


Christmas Wounds

by Lillielle



Series: Hermione's Scars [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Cutting, F/M, Parent/Child Incest, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Teacher-Student Relationship, self-injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillielle/pseuds/Lillielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: This all belongs to JKR, not me.</p>
<p>Sequel to "First Cut's the Deepest." A/U Hermione goes home for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/U, Voldy's dead, set in fifth year.

Her trunk thumped down the stairs behind her. She couldn't be bothered to put a levitation charm on it this time. The back bounced painfully against her legs, and Hermione bit back a gasp of pain. The marks on her arms throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

Christmas vacation had come far too soon, and like she had expected, she was headed home for the holidays. No matter how much she had prayed for a last-minute invitation to the Burrow or even Grimmauld Place, she'd known it wouldn't come. No one ever invited her to spend the holidays with them. Not even Harry and Ron. She had her "loving family" to return to, after all. Bitterness twisted her smile.

"Going home, Miss Granger?" a deep voice startled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Professor Snape standing at the bottom of the stairs, his arms folded across his chest.

"Yes, sir," she answered as politely as she could manage. Obviously, you git, she added in her head. Where else would she be headed with her trunk, after all? Running away in the middle of winter wasn't the brightest of plans, and Hermione was, after all, the "brightest witch of her generation."

"Happy Christmas, Miss Granger," Snape replied, making her eyes widen in shock. There was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite recognize. It almost looked like compassion. But-no, it couldn't be, could it? Not from the snarky Potions Master. Not unless he was Polyjuiced.

"Happy Christmas, Professor," she repeated dutifully and tugged her trunk past him into the Entrance Hall. A gust of icy cold wind blew across her from the half-open doors and she shivered. All thoughts of her Potions Professor's surprising behavior left her as she lugged her things down to the train platform and her mind filled up with images of what she was returning to once more.

It had started as far back as she could remember. Her father had never been a kind man. Her mother had never paid much attention to her, either. Marybeth Granger was a woman who had never wanted to be a mother. And from before Hermione could talk, she had known it. There was no love in her mum's eyes, no pride when her daughter learned to read at the age of three. Only boredom and patronization when she deigned to talk to the child.

Her father...Hermione sighed as she found a compartment as far away from everyone as she could manage. She didn't want to think about Stephen Granger at the moment, the man she had gotten her eyes from and the untameable bushy mass of her hair. No, the reality was coming far too swiftly for her liking.

Home for Christmas. She'd never wanted to be so far away.


	2. Chapter 2

This was one of the stupidest ideas he'd ever had, Severus Snape told himself as he followed Miss Granger down to the train station. He'd Disillusioned himself, so felt free to stride at a relatively brisk pace, secure that no one would be able to see him.  
Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought as he took up a post right outside the compartment Miss Granger had hidden herself away in. Stupid-and yet he couldn't help himself. Not when he'd seen the desolation in her eyes as she dragged her trunk down the stairs. Not when he peered into the compartment now and saw the telltale tear stains on her cheeks.

So he'd just follow her home, check up on her, and then leave, Severus reassured himself. He had his own festivities to attend to, after all (not really, but a fellow could pretend, couldn't he?). He had much better things to do than follow around a fifteen-year-old girl who wasn't even in his House.

The other two thirds of the Golden Trio couldn't even be bothered to find her, he noted in disgust. They had taken refuge in a compartment almost halfway back up the train. Probably stuffing their faces with sweets off the trolley, and he believed he'd seen that silly-brained girl, Lavender Brown duck in there, as well. She was terrible with Potions. Not as bad as Longbottom, but he also fully acknowledged that his own scowling demeanor had a bit to do with Longbottom's dreadful Potion skills. (He had also, in fact, taken discreet steps to ensure that the boy had been found a proper tutor and was making up several of his lowest marks. He wasn't a complete ogre.) Miss Brown on the other hand, was an empty-headed ninny far more focused on twirling your hair and making eyes at all the boys in the room than paying attention to her over-bubbling cauldron.

Nothing like Miss Granger, Severus thought as he took another discreet peek at her. She was simply staring out the window now, hollow-eyed. It was unusual for the bushy-haired chit, he thought, a bit uneasily. Normally, she was busy scribbling masses of notes into one of her ever-present journals or reading yet another dusty, over-sized book. Not this apathetic stillness. She pushed some of her hair back behind her ear and her sleeve fell down, revealing one of the fresh cuts. It had scabbed over, at least, he noted. If she was careful, then it should heal with no problems.

No matter how he treated her in class, Severus had always had a bit of a fondness for Miss Granger. The overly-enthusiastic bookworm reminded him of himself, with her eagerness to answer every question and spout off every bit of knowledge she knew. He had wondered more than once why she was not in Ravenclaw-or for that matter, in his own House. Particularly if his suspicions were correct...

He knew, obviously, that not all abused and neglected children ended up in Slytherin. There were sadly more than enough in the other three Houses. But Slytherin did get more than its fair share. It was saddening, but not surprising. Pureblood families and Muggle had more similarities than they would have ever dreamed, at least in the subject of child abuse.

The train whistle blew, shattering his reverie, and he shifted his position, standing back as much as he could. They had reached King's Cross and now he could get on with his duty and be done with it.


End file.
